


Questionable Decisions

by cedarbranch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Gerard Keay is a Monsterfucker, Gossip, Humor, M/M, canon-typical weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/pseuds/cedarbranch
Summary: Four avatars walk into a bar and gossip about the Distortion's love life.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 341





	Questionable Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> what if, in monster culture, monster-hunterfucking was analogous to monsterfucking in human culture
> 
> what if everyone collectively took a look at michael distortion's life choices and went "what the fuck dude"

Annabelle pushes the door open and ducks inside. The bar is cozy, just the right size, with illuminated shelves of bottles behind the counter. The dim lighting is a nice touch—anything to help the human patrons’ gazes slide over the more glaringly inhuman parts of her. She looks around and spies Jane in the corner. She’s already gotten a table with Agnes and Oliver.

Annabelle flounces over to them. “I’m not late, am I?” she asks, sliding into the booth beside Oliver. 

“Not at all,” says Oliver. “We only just sat down.” 

“Perfect.” Annabelle turns, scanning the humans sitting at the bar. There’s a man sitting alone at one end, young, fairly handsome. Looks cocky enough. She wiggles her fingers at him. They make eye contact—thankfully, he doesn’t notice that there are a few too many eyes looking back at him—and Annabelle grins. She bats her eyelashes. 

It’s the crudest of manipulation tactics, but quite frankly, she doesn’t have the energy for something elaborate. She’s here for fun. 

In a few minutes, he’s paid for all four of their drinks, and Annabelle blows the man a kiss as he retreats dazedly to his lonely seat.

“Thanks,” Jane murmurs. A worm crawls out of her hand, inspecting the rim of her bloody mary. It falls in. She takes a drink anyway. 

“No problem,” Annabelle says, staring at the worm wriggling at the bottom of Jane’s glass. “How are you all doing? How are the dreams, Oliver?”

“Awful as ever,” Oliver says. 

“Lovely. What about you, Agnes? How’s life as England’s next top messiah?”

Agnes sips pensively at her mojito. The metal straw steams against her lips. “It’s all right,” she says. “We did have a spot of trouble the other day, though. That Keay boy destroyed another Leitner.”

“Oh, Jesus, not him,” says Annabelle. “Did you at least manage to kill him this time?”

Agnes frowns. “No. It was… strange, actually.” She doesn’t elaborate. Oliver opens his mouth, but Annabelle holds up her hand to stop him. Agnes stares into space for a minute, then says, “He escaped. But I _know_ that door wasn’t there before.”

Even Jane looks up at that. Her voice rasps with a thousand undertones. “You don’t mean…”

“No way is the Distortion still helping him,” Annabelle says flatly. 

Oliver pauses. “Still?” he asks. 

Annabelle purses her lips. “I’d heard some whispers that he had been seen the last time Keay went hunting for the Circus,” she says. “I didn’t know whether to believe it, honestly. He’s never been very… cooperative. Especially not with the Archives.”

“Do you think they knew each other?” Jane asks. “Before Michael became Michael?”

Annabelle actually doesn’t know, but she’s not about to admit that. She plucks the lime from her glass and takes a bite of it. “All I’m going to say is, I don’t like that they’re working together,” she says. “We should keep a closer eye on him.”

“Which of them?” Agnes asks.

“Both,” Annabelle says darkly.

“Or we could just ask Michael what’s going on,” says Oliver. “I thought you would’ve invited him today, actually.”

Annabelle sighs. Michael is… not at the top of her list of ideal people to hang out with. He’s the chaos to her meticulous order, and so goddamn confusing it even gets _her_ head spinning sometimes. “He won’t tell us,” she says. “You know that. He’ll just spout off nonsense and avoid the question.”

“He’s bad at hiding stuff that’s important to him, though,” Oliver argues. “And if he’s been working with Keay, that sounds like it could be something important, don’t you think? You could get him to talk, you’re you.”

Agnes frowns. “You don’t think… no, nevermind.” 

“What?” Jane asks.

“I think I might have heard about them before,” Agnes says slowly. “Diego said something once… I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I think they might be… actually close, not just allies.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, the Distortion doesn’t have friends,” says Annabelle.

“Hey, I think we qualify as friends,” says Oliver. Annabelle sniffs. “But I don’t know why Michael would try to protect someone like that. I mean…” He makes a face. “It’s _Gerard Keay._ He’s a bit of a nightmare, isn’t he? I can’t imagine being friends with him.”

“Yes,” says Agnes. “Unless they’re…” She makes a vague gesture. 

“I don’t know what that means,” says Jane. 

Agnes sighs and gives her a meaningful look. “Unless they’re… _you know_.” Her gesturing gets decidedly more lewd.

Jane chokes on her drink. A worm pops out of her eye. Oliver bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Agnes, seriously?” he says.

Annabelle groans. “Don’t be disgusting,” she says, pushing her drink away. “You’ll turn my stomach.”

“I’m just saying,” Agnes says placidly. “It’s a _possibility_.”

“How would that even work?” Oliver manages to ask through fits of giggles. “Like, I’m not going to kinkshame, but he doesn’t even really _have_ a body, and the whole bones-in-the-hands thing—”

“That could be the appeal,” Jane says thoughtfully. “Less bones means more flexible.”

“I do not want to talk about this,” says Annabelle. Oliver looks like he’s going to cry with laughter. 

“I just don’t think you should be rude to him,” Jane says, her worms squirming in agreement. “He’s plenty handsome.”

“Michael isn’t the problem here!” Annabelle hisses. “I just—Keay? _Really?_ That’s just wrong. He’s a human and a Leitner hunter, it goes against everything we stand for. Plus, his hair is terrible!”

Oliver snickers. “I dunno, I think it could work. You know what they say about opposites attracting.”

“So you don’t think it’s gross?” Annabelle challenges. “Not even a little?”

“Okay, a bit, yeah,” Oliver concedes. “But it would be just like him, wouldn’t it? To get with whoever has the maximum potential for pissing the rest of us off?”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Jane volunteers. 

“Oh, you get laid _one_ time, Jane,” Annabelle sighs, rolling all eight of her eyes. “That was _different_ , that guy was—”

“Was it different?” Agnes asks. “Was it really?”

Annabelle points at her. “Don’t you start,” she says. “We all know how _you_ feel about fraternizing with humans. Now, I don’t judge, to each her own and all that, but at least you two have some measure of taste! Unclaimed humans are fine, they’re lovely, have your fun, it’s all the same to me. But,” she lowers her voice, “Gerard Keay? The bookburner? And an ally of the Eye, no less!”

“I don’t think he’s actually allied with anyone,” Agnes muses, stirring idly at her drink. All the ice has melted. 

“Tell that to the tattoos,” Oliver mutters.

“Exactly,” says Annabelle. “He might not be… a _conventional_ avatar, shall we say, but anyone who spends that much time in the Archives has made their priorities clear enough.”

“I just don’t know if it’s any of our business,” says Jane. 

“He made it our business when he started protecting Keay,” Annabelle says. “That’s…” She stops. 

There’s a door across the room.

“Oh, wonderful,” she mutters. “Thank you all for this riveting conversation, but the fun’s over; he’ll be here any minute now.”

Oliver snorts. “What, did you stick one of your phone boxes through his door?”

“No. But he’s certainly stuck his door into that wall.” Annabelle flicks her finger at the wall behind Oliver, where the yellow door waits. Just as she does so, it swings open. Michael scoots around—or maybe through—the tables and stops in front of theirs.

“You didn’t invite me,” he says matter-of-factly, somehow making it sound accusing all the same. 

“Sorry,” Jane mumbles. 

Annabelle elbows her. “No, we didn’t,” she says. “But you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.” She can’t exactly do anything to make him leave. 

Oliver slides closer to Agnes. There still isn’t really enough room for another person, but Michael sits down anyway, and he fits just fine. Annabelle chooses not to look too closely at the proportions of his limbs. She tries to focus on the ambiguous mimicry he calls a face instead. Michael grins with too many mouths, and Annabelle averts her eyes once more.

Her gaze lands on his neck, where a patch of red and purple has collected into the vague shape of a spiral. She looks at Oliver, stifling a smile. He blinks. She tilts her head towards the evidence, and the moment it clicks, his eyes go wide.

“Oh my God, is that a fucking _hickey?_ ” he says, delighted.

Michael doesn’t quite blush, but his features collide in a mess of spirals. He steals Annabelle’s margarita and takes a sip. “Hey!” she snaps. 

“Congrats, mate,” Oliver says, knocking his glass against Annabelle’s stolen one. Annabelle glares at him. Traitor. He just grins. ”What? Times are dark, Annabelle. Don’t we all wish we could have someone to hold?”

“In a headlock, maybe,” Annabelle grumbles. The corner of Agnes’ mouth twitches into a smile.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” Oliver asks. “Or girl, or whatever.” 

Michael keeps drinking from Annabelle’s glass. 

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Oliver grins. “But do tell me this. Is it Gerard Keay?”

Michael very nearly spits his drink out. He actually does blush this time, pink down to the tips of his curly hair. “No,” he says, his voice crackling loud with distortion. 

“You heard it here first, folks!” Oliver crows. “A no from the throat of delusion incarnate! In other circles, I think we’d call that a yes—what do you think, Agnes?”

“Don’t tease,” Agnes says with a wince. “Michael, can I just… why? Just, why?”

Michael sets the glass down. “I don’t have to answer that,” he says delicately. 

“What the fuck, mate,” says Oliver. “Seriously? _Him_? You’re even crazier than I thought you were. I’m almost impressed.”

“Please don’t encourage this,” Annabelle says wearily. 

“You’re just jealous,” says Michael. Oliver cackles. Annabelle buries her face in her hands. 

She _so_ does not want to think about this.


End file.
